


Satinalia Spirit

by alleged (alleged_grey_warden)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders Positive, Christmas fic, Handers Satinalia 2017, Justice Positive, M/M, embarassing amounts of soppiness, this is so cheesy I almost didn't post it for shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleged_grey_warden/pseuds/alleged
Summary: Hawke knew Justice, the spirit. He knew him as flashes of white-hot fire, as cracks down Anders’ skin and eyes like blazing suns. He knew Justice as unmistakably as he knew the sight of smoke on the horizon.But he didn't know why now, of all times, Justice was stalking through the estate at night.For the prompt: Hawke coaxes out Justice to try out the full Satinalia experience for the first time in his existence: smells, tastes, sounds, and all.





	Satinalia Spirit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikkeneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/gifts).



> So an _attempt_ was made to actually research what the Satinalia holiday is like in universe, in both Ferelden and other places. I did, in fact, learn some interesting things about Satinalia but... I possibly did not find a good use for that lore. So, apologies for some inaccuracies!
> 
> I also scrapped and rewrote this thing... three times. It was quite an effort, and I'm not sure I'm entirely happy with the result, but I figured more people might enjoy it if I posted it here than if I left it anonymous on the Handers Satinalia page, so! Here it is. 
> 
> Thank you for organizing this event, and Happy Holidays!

Hawke learned one night shortly after Anders moved in that living with the mage meant living with an eerie Fade spirit prowling your halls at night. The lesson came from a cold gust from the window he didn’t remember opening, an empty bed, and Bodahn knocking furiously on his door.

“Messere! Messere! Something's wrong with--”

Bodahn didn’t have to finish, because as Hawke opened the door, he saw a flash of blue light down the hall.

Hawke knew Justice, the spirit. He knew him as flashes of white-hot fire, as cracks down Anders’ skin and eyes like blazing suns. He knew Justice as unmistakably as he knew the sight of smoke on the horizon. He knew, and knew enough to not be afraid. Not _incredibly_ afraid, at least.

What he didn’t know was why now. There were no Templars, no bandits, no slavers. Just the parlor at night, a single open window, and two frighteningly bright eyes gazing at him from a silhouetted form by the windowsill.

“Bit chilly, don’t you think?” Hawke asked.

For a second he thought the cold gust that blasted his face was a hostile spell, and he cringed. Likely enough it was just from the window, though. He told himself it was from the window, at least.

“Mortal,” Justice said, inclining his head just slightly in recognition.

“I have a name,” Hawke said, a bit miffed. “I think you could stand to use it, considering we’re…”

He struggled to find a concise way to sum up their relationship. He hadn’t given much thought to it when he’d welcomed Anders into his home, but he was cohabiting with this… being. Their relationship happened to involve a level of physical intimacy. Given some of Anders’ comments, Justice was likely aware of it, aware _during_ it. Yet as it was, he had never spoken more than two sentences to the spirit.

_I fucked the body you inhabit but we’ve never said more than two words to each other before this. Also, now we’re living together. Hurrah!_

Justice didn’t blink. “We are what?” He prompted.

No awkward morning after Hawke had experienced could top this.

“Look,” Hawke said. “Don’t you need sleep or something? Doesn’t Anders need sleep?”

Justice tilted his head, frowning. “Are you insisting I come back to bed with you?”

Hawke squirmed. “No?”

Justice turned from him as though he’d lost all patience for the conversation. He looked out the window, as he had been before Hawke came in. There was another gust of winter wind, and this time Hawke could see the tiniest of snowflakes beginning to fall.

“Well, fine,” Hawke said. “Bring Anders back if you get cold I suppose. Will he remember this, by the way?”

“I do not know. I can never predict what he will remember.”

Hawke shrugged. “I’ll be in my nice warm bed, then.”

Justice didn’t turn, but acknowledged what he said with a grumpy noise. Hawke backed out of the room, not taking his eyes off the spirit, standing a moment in the doorway. There was no hint of an oncoming rampage, no sign that the spirit was about to drive a staff into someone. Just stillness, quiet, the snowflakes falling outside, and a soft glow outlining his shadow by the window.

Hawke left, closing the door behind him. Bodahn was there, eyes wide and forehead still furrowed with worry.

“Nothing seems to be the matter,” Hawke said. Then, thinking of Ella, “Just… steer clear of him until morning.”

Bodahn’s lips pursed. “Yes, messere.”

He went back to bed. In the morning, there was a warm pair of arms around him, legs tangled with his own, and a warm body pressed up against his. Anders. Blissfully asleep, eyes shut, face free of worry lines, and not a speck of blue.

He kissed the corner of Anders’ mouth, and got a giggle in return. A beautiful, musical sound. Anders kissed him back fully on the lips. When he pulled back he ran fingers through Anders’ hair, searched his face.

“You’re not tired, are you?” Hawke asked.

“What? No,” Anders said. “I always sleep well with you.”

Anders rose first, and Hawke watched him as he dressed and listened and Anders started to hum merrilly. There were none of the signs Hawke could normally pick up when Anders was concealing distress--no pinched shoulders or tension running through his neck.

If he could remember what Justice had been doing, or why, he showed no indication of it. Hawke opened his mouth to ask, but suddenly hesitated.

“Hey,” he said once Anders was dressed, meaning to bring it up. But Anders kissed him on the mouth again, and Hawke thought of how upset Anders always got over this possession stuff, and how he’d never brought it up before, and how he might say something wrong if he brought it up now and they’d both feel awful, and--

“I’m going to Darktown,” Anders said. “I’ll be back by nightfall, okay?”

And the moment had passed.

It was likely a one time incident, he thought as he watched Anders go. It was best to not bring it up.

* * *

 

It wasn’t a one time incident.

The times he woke in the middle of the night to find his bed empty were infrequent at first. The first few times he would peek into the parlor or the library to check up on things. There was never any indication of rampaging. At the most, Justice would rearrange some things in the library, or mess up some of the Satinalia decorations Bodahn and Orana had begun to put up.

_Like a bored cat_ , Hawke thought. But he chided himself. He’d seen the spirit rip off a Templar’s head with his bare hands. Comparing him to a housecat was trivializing.

It happened more and more. Once every few weeks. Then, about once a week. Then on the week of Satinalia, he was waking every other night and hearing heavy, restless footsteps in the hall, with the occasional flash of blue if he peeked into the hallway.

On Saturday morning, he woke up to find Anders already up, pacing.

“You’re happy here,” Hawke asked. “...Right?”

Anders turned from what he was doing to look at him in surprise. “Happy?” He asked. “I’m over the moon, Hawke. Everything you’ve done for me, everything you’ve given to me--its more than I ever imagined.”

“Right,” Hawke said, ignoring the pit in his stomach. “I’m glad.”

He let the matter drop. There was nothing amiss that day. His friends all came over, and they drank ale and exchanged gifts as planned. Slowly, the pit in his gut melted.

It was Isabela’s gift that did it, surprisingly enough. A box of perfume imported from Tevinter. Isabela hadn’t even yet handed it to Anders when he’d raised confused and suspicious eyebrows at her. She’d winked.

“I nicked it from a fancy merchant ship,” she said. “Rare and expensive, apparently. And definitely sweet smelling. Not to make too much of a jab of this, Anders, but after working in Darktown you could often use-- _shit!”_

Everyone in the room jumped, because Anders hands jerked to grab the box aggressively, and suddenly everything was shrouded in eerie blue light. Hawke himself froze.

“This smell,” Justice boomed. “It is unfamiliar.”

Too much happened at once. Hawke leapt up to snatch Justice by the arm, Isabela backed away quickly, and Orana--just coming into the room to deliver more cookies--screamed. The box slipped from Justice’s hands, and there was no more blue light, only some shattered perfume on the floor.

“I--” Anders swallowed.

“Did something upset you?” Hawke asked, quickly. “Was it that it was stolen?”

Anders frowned. “No, I--”

Isabela threw up her hands. “I’ll have you know, the merchant I nicked it from was a huge bastard, and definitely had it coming.”

“Oh dear,” Orana said, on the verge of tears. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ll clean it right up.”

Everyone was talking at once. Hawke noticed Anders’ eyes darting around the room for a moment, and then Anders yanked his arm away and rushed out of the room.

Hours later, Anders was tearing at his hair.

“I don’t know!” he said. “I can’t recall what I-what Justice was thinking at the time. I saw it, I smelled it, and then I just--we’re going crazy. That’s it. I’m completely losing it. You shouldn’t be around me, I’m--”

He pulled Anders into a hug, and felt the tension melt out of his body.

That night when he woke to an empty bed, he went out into the hallway with questions. But though he saw flashes of blue, they ceased the moment he entered the room. Justice faded the second Hawke was close, only leaving a bewildered Anders who couldn’t quite recall getting out of bed.

Justice would not talk to him.

* * *

 

A pattern emerged. Justice stalked the hallways throughout the years, his presence waning at times but always waxing in the colder months, as Satinalia drew near. Hawke came to expect the misplaced ornaments laying around the estate during this time, or to catch glimpses of fussed with wreaths in the wrong places.

It took Hawke shamefully long to figure it out. By the time he did, there were no ornaments or long dining tables to hold feasts at. There was no fireplace to give gifts by--or friends or family to give them to. There was only himself, an empty space in the bed next to him, and a soft blue glow shimmering through the room.

Hawke sat up. Justice was pressing his hands to the window and leaning his face close. In the past, he might have stiffened to suddenly be in this close proximity, wondering if this was the calm right before a blow up. Now, he just yawned.

He had seen and accepted too much to seriously be worried about Justice, at this point.

“Aren’t you worried about someone seeing you?” he asked.

There was a flash of colored light from outside the window.

“Fireworks,” Justice said. “They did not have them in Kirkwall for Satinalia.”

“Ah, right,” Hawke said. “Rivain celebrates it a bit differently.”

Justice seemed to press his face even more firmly against the window. “People are dancing in the street. They have masks, and giant ribbons.”

“Yeah,” Hawke rubbed his eyes. “Well, it was a Tevinter holiday. It’s a bit closer to Tevinter here, so… I suppose it maintains more of the old traditions. Kirkwall makes it more of a family thing.”

Justice didn’t answer. Hawke looked him over, suddenly noting the similarity to a kid pressing his nose against the window of a candy store. Even though Justice’s face was flat and expressionless, there was no denying the interest expressed as he leaned forward. Hawke thought of all the ornaments fussed with over the years, and it clicked.

“...you really just like Satinalia, huh. That’s what all the… trouncing around at night was about,” Hawke huffed. “You could have said that, you know.”

Justice’s hand curled into a near fist against the window pane. “Anders is distressed when I… infringe upon his time, in this manner,” he said. “I decided to simply have time for myself while he slept.”

Funny, how a casual conversation could be carried on with that voice. “And did you ask?” Hawke said. “Or did you just, assume he’d be okay with this?”

Justice turned to him. “We have no such way of communicating,” he argued. “Anders has all of the day, every day to do as he wishes until he needs me. Is it wrong for me to want to simply walk to and fro?”

Hawke shrugged. “Well, I guess if you put it that way...”

Justice turned back to look outside the window. “I had memories of this Satinalia from Kristoff,” he said. “Memories of things such as chestnuts, or cinnamon, or gift giving. Empty memories, without the real sting of the senses, but I treasured them nonetheless.”

“Right,” Hawke said. “Kristoff.”

He could vaguely recall Anders mentioning Kristoff, the former host of Justice. He came up to the window, close enough to feel the strange energy from Justice radiating onto his skin. This close, Justice no longer seemed so large and intimidating, as Hawke often perceived him in battle.

An idea seized him like a madness.

“Alright,” Hawke said. “Let’s go.”

Justice snapped his head at him, and his eyes widened. Underneath the glow, it was identical to the look Anders gave him when he mentioned a new plan.

“What?” Justice asked.

Hawke shrugged. “I wasn’t really in a celebrating mood but, hey, I’m not tired now. You want to go and see the sights.”

“I cannot--the people--”

“Seemed okay with you when you emerged to knock a few heads off some bandits, a few days ago. Spirit stuff is common here.”

“You cannot assume that,” Justice said. “What if there are Templars?”

“There are hardly any Templars here in Rivain! That spirit medium the other day was doing her work in broad daylight, so...”

“No,” Justice said. “The risk--”

Hawke took him by the hand. Power crackled through the veins there, streaming out in abnormally bright light. It did not burn Hawke, as he had half expected it would. It gave only the slightest sensation, like feeling yourself basked in the sun. He traced the glowing lines up Anders’--Justice’s--hand.

“Come on,” Hawke said. “We really don’t have anything to lose.”

* * *

 

Justice acted like Anders when excited--and yet not. His face remained blank, but he as the sights and sounds grew closer he moved like Anders did, perking up his head in much the same way and pacing energetically.

For such a large, overwhelming presence (and he was still overwhelming, stomping heavily and practically yanking Hawke’s arm out with the slightest of tugs) the spirit ready to shrink away at any moment if Hawke stopped holding his hand through this. Hawke could feel the ringing of a magic through their contact, pulsing as they approached people.

“We should not,” Justice said.

“We will!” Hawke chirped. “Consequences are for the morning!”

They donned masks, and Justice’s veiled his eyes, but at times there was still enough glow to see underneath. He still froze under a few people’s gazes, but none of them gave a second glance.

Hawke caught the wafting scent of cinnamon, and stopped.

“You said something about cinnamon?” Hawke asked, tugging Justice in the direction of a stand.

“Yes, but…”

“You will eat the cinnamon treats!” Hawke said, dragging him over.

It was amazing how much Justice trusted him in this way, seeing as he’d lent so little trust to Justice himself. But he shook that thought out of his head. There was celebrating to be done.

“You know, you’re supposed to eat it,” Hawke said, after Justice had stared at the threat in his hands for about a minute.

“It is warm,” Justice said. “I enjoy the smell.”

“Okay yeah, but eat it!”

Justice bit in.

It was hard to gauge any sort of reaction from him, but Hawke continued to try. He dragged Justice more around, going to each stand. Justice bent over to look at them, and Hawke could see a flash of light within the mask.

“Look at them!” Hawke said. “Touch them--here, I’ll buy them if I have to.”

He stopped dragging Justice everywhere, and started to watch him as he stomped from stand to stand. The occasional stand owner flinched when Justice would suddenly rush in and stick his face close to examine something, or boom some sort of compliment, but it didn’t create any issues.

And then, they danced.

Or well, Hawke danced. Justice did not seem to understand. He simply stood still, watching and tilting his head as Hawke tried to keep in step with the locals, occasionally taking a few steps forward so Hawke stayed in his sights.

“You’re supposed to move, you know!” Hawke said.

“Move where?”

Hawke sighed. “Never mind.”

* * *

 

After everything had died down, they ended up simply taking a walk a bit and lying down on the grass, where no one else was present. Hawke took off his mask, and leaned over to take off Justice’s, again feeling the ringing of magic through his body as his hands brushed against glowing skin. He remained propped up on his elbows, staring and admiring the lines of Anders’ faces when lit by Justice’s blue light.

Justice’s bright stare was as relentless as ever.

“Did you have fun?” Hawke asked.

Instead of answering directly, Justice said, “It is different to experience things when I am not Anders.”

Hawke blinked, trying to unpack that one. He decided it wasn’t worth it. “Different how?”

“I can feel the tiniest threads in a fabric individually,” Justice said. “I can see the tiniest details. But it is more than the physical details. When I touch something, I can feel the imprint of another’s touch upon it. I can feel the will of a weaver in a fabric. And I hear--it is all loud, sometimes.”

“That’s beautiful,” Hawke said. “I mean--that’s poetic of you.”

Justice’s face shifted just slightly.

“There is no snow here,” he said.

“No, there isn’t,” Hawke said. “Warmer climate and all that.”

Justice looked away now. “I would have liked to feel the snow again. I miss it,” his voice flickers, for a moment becoming more human, more _Anders._ “I miss everything.”

There was a lot to miss, Hawke thought. The estate, the snowflakes, the warmth of a fire in a cold winter. Friends to give things to--and to give back.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said. “I should have done this sooner. Back home. Back before…”

_Before._ The word hung in the air.

“Why now?” Justice asked.

“Huh?” Hawke said. “Well, it’s silly. All these years living together with Anders, with you, and I never… ah, well. I wasted a lot of time just. I’m sorry you had to just stalk through the hallways for all those years.”

And then, Justice’s face cracks. Not with otherworldly light but with the ugly, terrible face that Anders always makes when he’s just barely holding back tears. Hawke instinctively reaches out and place a hand on his cheek.

“If it’s any consolation,” Hawke continued, “We have all the next Satinalias to do this better.”

Perhaps Justice couldn’t smile, or express his joy or gratitude the way a mortal could. But he leaned into Hawke’s hand, eye closing blissfully, and that was enough.

* * *

 

The next morning, he woke to find Anders already up, wiping tears from his face. Hawke jumped up, alarmed.

“What’s wrong?”

Anders sniffled. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just crying and also I feel like my heart is going to flutter right out of my chest with happiness. No idea why, though! Also I feel like I could go eat a Templar, or something. Not that I couldn’t usually do that, just now I--well, you know my mood swings. They’re--”

Hawke pulled him down, and buried his face in the crook of Anders’ neck.

“I love you,” he said. “All of you. You know that, right?”

Hawke felt Anders grasp him back tightly, and for a moment he could feel the slightest ring of magic, of the otherworldly spirit’s aura.

“I love you too.”

 

~end


End file.
